


Of Roses And Sweet Things

by Sashataakheru



Series: The Ballad of the Black Dog [3]
Category: The Chaser RPF, The Fantastic Leslie RPS
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, break up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/pseuds/Sashataakheru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vaguely related to 'Don't Get Sad' and 'Dark Green'. Andrew confronts his relationship with Cam and wonders how he's supposed to let go of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Roses And Sweet Things/In The Air Tonight

You were never quite sure how it had started. For a relationship that had such an abrupt and painful ending, the start, well, never really started. It was a transition, if anything, from band mates to… whatever it was you turned into. Cam had always refused to use the term "boyfriend", as if it made things far too permanent, but you didn't mind; you were besotted with the man anyway, no matter what he called your relationship.

Looking back, you suspected it was all your fault for turning your well-deserved admiration into a tiny bit of a crush, so that when you shared that first drunken kiss to the leers and cheers of your mates for a dare, you found strange things stirring in your belly as Cam kissed you for a little longer than necessary, tentatively slipping his tongue in your mouth.

It had taken several more drunken kisses, not all of them dares, at several more drunken parties before Cam took your hand and led you away to somewhere more private. Hesitant and scared, you wondered if it was what you really wanted or if you were content to just kiss him. But then Cam started kissing you and sliding a hand inside your shirt and then you decided you didn't care.

You begged him to be gentle, to be careful, and Cam obliged, taking things as quickly as you wanted, constantly asking you if you were alright. You loved that side of him, how gentle and affectionate he could be. There was a strange respect between you. It might've been your band, but you were quite certain it was Cam that was the real talent. He had a charm and confidence about him that you'd never been able to achieve. You needed that confidence to reassure yourself that you weren't making a total arse of yourself every time you got on stage.

The moment Cam pushed inside, you could scarcely believe how much you wanted him to continue. It hurt at first, you weren't used to it yet, but Cam's careful and gentle reassurances pushed past that as he slipped in further until his whole cock was inside you. It was weirdly arousing. Wrapping your legs around Cam's body, you held on as Cam began thrusting, ever so slowly, whispering sweetness and rainbows to you as he peppered your skin with kisses.

"Is this the first time you've-"

"Yes, well, no, I mean, sort of-"

"Shh, it's alright. I won't hurt you, I promise."

All you could do was moan as he pushed in again, any response you might've had lost in your throat.

You let him speed up once you'd gotten used to it and the more you wanted Cam, and the more you wanted to come, the more you encouraged Cam to fuck you hard. The feeling of him slamming into you, ragged breathing hot in your ear, was more of a turn on than you had ever anticipated.

You were exhausted afterwards, but you didn't care. Cam lay beside you, humming quietly, gently caressing your tired body. Cam kissed you again, slow and deep, and you felt that was as close to any sort of start as you could get.

Neither of you would ever have admitted you were in love, and afterwards you were never quite sure if Cam had really been in love with you, or if he had just enjoyed your company and the sex you so willingly offered him, but you were closer than you'd ever been before, clinging to each other in the darkest night, whispering to each other what you dared not speak aloud, and you had to admit that was the best you could have hoped for. There was something immensely intimate about sharing the lonely hours of the night together, isolated from the world in a way that you were never allowed to be at any other time. Cam didn't want your thing to be public, so you were never allowed to touch him, or glance at him, or even flirt with him while others were around. That didn't stop him sending glances and blown kisses your way when he thought no one was looking, which you eagerly returned. It hurt, but it made the times you did have together even more special since you knew no one else in the world knew about you and him and the love you shared.

The most treasured night you spent together, you were staying in some seaside hotel. It was very late, and you'd both come back from the gig pissed but happy. You'd scored a room with ocean views, and with Cam by your side, you stood on the balcony and watched the moon rise, fluttering its reflection on the black water below. It was darkly poetic the way the waves rippled the moon's pale reflection and tore it to shreds, never letting it settle whole and full on the surface.

He disappeared for a moment, and you stood as the wind swept past. You can't remember how long he was gone even now, but when he returned, he said nothing but pressed a single rose into your hand, smiling at you kindly.

You had to admit it was a bit girly, but you couldn't remember ever having someone give you flowers before. It was always the other way around. It smelled beautiful, and it was white with hints of pink in it. He grasped your shoulder gently and murmured one word: "Forever."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

You smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was the single most valuable gift you could ever remember receiving. Hiding it in your bags, you took it back home with you and pressed it, wanting to keep it forever. Even after he left you, you couldn't bring yourself to throw it out, and it remained hidden in your wardrobe in a book of old songs you'd written with and about him, a small piece of preserved history. You always hoped Chris would never find it.

The utter tenderness and passion with which he made love to you that night had proved so far impossible to better. You were beginning to think no one would ever be as good as he was, and it saddened you to think that the best sex you'd ever have, you'd had when you were 25. Clearly, you'd peaked too early. Chris had never come close to that in all the years you'd been fucking around with him, though for some reason this didn't surprise you.

You could hardly have believed then that a mere 6 months later, he would be lying in bed beside you, telling you he was moving on. Your heart wouldn't have believed it possible back then as you clung to him desperately, unable to believe how much you loved him, for you had to admit you did love him, even if you weren't sure he ever did. You were repeating a bad habit of falling in love with people who never loved you back, and when you thought about it, you hated yourself for it. Love was supposed to be a mutual thing, and you were yet to find that mutual love. You were beginning to think you never would.

There were times, however, when you'd have forgiven him in an instant if it meant you could have him back in your arms again. No one would ever be as painfully attractive to you as him. Not even Chris in all his patheticness would be able to shake your own pathetic longing after the one man who'd both loved you completely and torn you apart at the seams.

But then Chris doesn't know, does he? You could never bring yourself to tell him. It was the one most sacred part of you and you would never share it with him. You didn't want him to think you weak, or think he would never be good enough for you. If he knew you were hiding it, he never mentioned it. He knew you'd had a thing with him once, but you always refused to talk about it and he quickly learned not to bring it up with you.

You knew he had his own secrets that you'd never pry from him, doesn't everyone?, though you suspected one of them concerned Craig and the apparent crush everyone knew he had on him. Craig had always asserted that nothing had ever happened between them, apart from that kiss, but the way Chris gazed after him longingly made you think there was more to the story than you'd ever know.

Chris was observing you now, gazing at your contemplative figure as you sipped your beer. You were miles away, and he knew it. It took him some time to pry you out of your memories as he spoke.

"Andy? You still with me, mate? Hello? Earth to Hansen, do you read, over?"

Eventually, he threw a cushion at you. That got your attention as your beer sloshed and the bottle dropped to the floor, spilling all over the carpet. You blinked and looked up at him, wondering what on earth he wanted.

"Uh, sorry, I was miles away," you said weakly, knowing he already knew that.

"I gathered that. What's this?" Chris said as he placed an old and very familiar looking book on the table.

You couldn't believe what you were seeing as he brought out the book you'd hidden far away in the back of your wardrobe, hoping to God and his angels that he never found it. It fell open to reveal the pressed rose and the song you'd written about that night. You had no idea what to say.

"Something I should know about?" Chris said.

"It was years ago. Ancient history," you said, forcing yourself to speak.

"So why still keep it?" Chris was beginning to get on your nerves.

You had no idea how to answer him. "I… I don't know. I just can't throw it away. It keeps coming back to me," you said at last, lost for any other explanation.

He stood up then and set his drink down. "Come and find me when you've forgotten about him. Bye, Hanso."

Fuck, he didn't even sound angry. You'd always hated his quiet disappointment over anything else, the way he guilt-tripped you into running back to him when you had one of your many disagreements – or were they break ups? You were never sure and never bothered to question it.

You watched numbly as he left you alone. You reached for the book, but you still couldn't bring yourself to destroy it. You picked up the rose instead, noticing it still had that faint perfume, sweet and innocent and all-knowing, holding forever the memories of that night in its dried flesh. It still had some of the colour left in it as well. You could still picture the moonlight reflecting off the waves even now.

Setting it back on the page, covering the song you didn't want to be reminded of even though you knew it off by heart, you closed the book again, wishing it would both stay with you forever and disappear out of your life for good. You sighed and slumped back in the chair, hating that he still owned you so many years later. There was a small part of your heart that whispered to you that you would never be able to let him go, no matter how hard you tried.


	2. Of Fire And Passion Burning/In The Cold Light Of Dawn

Your eyes blinked open reluctantly. Sunlight poured into the room. You'd clearly forgotten to close the curtains the night before. Groaning, you sat up and rubbed your temples. You shouldn't have gotten piss drunk the night before, but you couldn't get Chris' voice out of your head.

"You're such a dickhead, Hansen. Drinking is not going to make this better. Get off your arse and fix yourself already," you scold yourself, angry that you'd let it get that far.

The sunlight only exacerbated the hangover, and you almost went back to bed but for the sight of that damn book sitting on the table still, mocking you with its continued presence. Scowling at it, you made your way into the kitchen. You needed to eat. Or drink copious amounts of coffee. Either would do.

You were on autopilot as your disconnected mind only vaguely took an interest in what your body was doing as it made both food and coffee. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and how Chris had told you to come and find him when you'd forgotten about him. You weren't sure that would be as easy as it sounded.

You sat in front of the TV, not caring what was on – it was sound, that's all that mattered – and probably ate. You weren't conscious of eating, at any rate, just that when you looked down, the plate was empty and the coffee duly consumed. With a sigh, you got up and took the dishes back to the kitchen, leaving them in the sink. You paused by the fridge and opened it, staring in at the contents for some reason unknown to you.

Unnoticed and unstoppable, you reached for another beer and the cycle continued.

* * *

It was four days before you woke from your drunken stupor. You weren't even sure why you'd bothered. It hadn't solved anything, Chris was still miserably absent, which you remembered because you'd called him and left him probably a thousand messages which you know he'd probably deleted and not bothered to listen to, and that stupid damn book was still staring at you from the coffee table.

And yet, every time you went to reach for it, to destroy it and leave him behind, you couldn't do it. You never managed to touch it at all.

You thought you were on the floor when the phone rang. You tried to get up to answer it, but your legs refused to move. You gave up as it switched to the answering machine. You ignored the weird feeling of actually listening to your message as it finished and another familiar voice spoke to you.

"Hey, Andrew, it's Craig. Chris said you've been calling him. We haven't seen you for five days, man. Are you alright? Look, we're going to come round, alright? Don't hurt yourself, please."

Panic washed over you as Craig hung up and the machine clicked off. Craig had sounded worried, which you did feel bad about, but you didn't want them to find you, not now, not like this. You didn't need their pity. Maybe you should call them, defer their panicked intervention for a few more days at least.

It took all your strength to get to your feet and stumble towards the phone. You squinted at it, unable to make out the numbers. You also realised you couldn't remember what number to call. Perhaps it was time to sober up and sort yourself out. You'd proven to yourself once again that drinking did not solve your problems, and you had a feeling that if you kept going, you'd have a hangover that lasted a week, and that was not something you wanted to repeat.

You made your way to the bathroom and threw some cold water on your face. If they were indeed coming over, then you shouldn't look like you've been pissed for the last five days. Had to make sure everything looked normal.

Feeling not so tired, you made your way back out to the lounge. Rubbing your eyes, you were surprised to find it not as messy as you'd thought. Sure, there were a few bottles around the place, but that was it. You wandered back into the kitchen to find it spotlessly clean. Wandering over to the sink, you notice that you'd recently washed dishes. How had you managed that when you were drunk and not managed to break anything? You didn't remember washing dishes at any rate.

You made another coffee, strong and black, and drank it in one go, hoping it would clear your head. You followed it with some Panadol, trying to make your head stop aching. This… was nothing like previous drunken binges. It was too tidy. With a confused sigh, you went and gathered the bottles still on the floor and took them out to the bin. The number of bottles you found didn't seem to be as many as you were expecting.

"I am never drinking again, not if it's gonna fuck with my brain like this. What the fuck happened the last four days if I wasn't pissed the entire time?" you said to yourself, confused at the evidence.

"Talking to yourself, Hansen? First sign of madness, you know," Craig said as he came up behind you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

You startled at his touch. "Shit, Craig, don't do that," you said, surprised at his sudden intrusion.

"Just making sure you're alright, mate. Hadn't heard from you, that's all. Everything okay? Chris said you'd broken up again. Feel free to tell me all about it," Craig said.

"I-I'd rather not go into it. It's… too personal," you managed to say.

"Is it about Cam again?" Craig said.

"Yeah, no, maybe, look, can I just go back inside? I need to sleep," you said, wanting him to leave.

Craig looked you over. "Yeah, you look like you could do with a sleep. Just so long as you're alright, yeah? Call me if you need me," he said.

"Thanks Craig. Will do," you murmured.

He smiled at you, squeezed your shoulder and left. You watched him until he was out of sight before going back inside. Your head wasn't hurting as much now. You grabbed a glass of water and wandered back towards your room. After a quick toilet break, you turned the fan on and lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling. Watching the blades spin, you gradually drifted off to sleep, hoping things would make sense when you woke.

* * *

You were lying on your stomach when you woke again, and the darkness coming through the windows suggested it was nighttime. You couldn't tell how late it was though. Everything ached now, but it was a tiredness in your bones as opposed to in your head. You sat up groggily, and grabbed at the clock beside the bed to see what time it was.

"Three in the morning. Right. Christ, I'm hungry," you muttered as you got to your feet and wandered back into the kitchen.

You ate in front of that damn book again, still resting untouched on the table. Looking at it, you suddenly realised what it was that was holding you back, and what you needed to do to fix it.

Finishing your meal, you grabbed the book at last and headed out to find Cam. You had to settle this once and for all. Then you could go and ask Chris to come back to you and stop living in misery.

* * *

When Cam opened the door to find you standing there, you hadn't quite expected the look of utter bewilderment that you were greeted with. How you remembered where he lived still was anyone's guess, but then not much had made sense over the last five days that you were willing to let it slide. You figured if your brain didn't remember what had happened, then it was probably for the best.

"Andy, it's 5am. What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice suggested you'd woken him up.

"Just wanted to ask you one question," you said.

"Sure, come on in, I'll make coffee," Cam said as he brought you into his house.

You hung back, the book still clutched under one arm. You watched him flick a light on and switch the kettle on. You weren't sure what you should be doing.

"Oh, man, what have you done to yourself? I thought I told you to take care of yourself?" Cam said as he finally saw you in the light.

You tried to answer but before you could get any words out, he was at your side, worrying over you like he used to do.

"Christ, have you seen yourself lately? You look like you've been run over by a truck," Cam said. "And you smell like you've been rolling around in garbage. Right! No coffee for you until you smell like roses. Go on, get in there! You can bitch to me when you're clean."

Cam pushed you towards the bathroom and shoved you inside, closing the door behind you. Setting the book down on the bench, you finally noticed your reflection. You had to admit Cam had a point. You did look like shit. Peeling off your clothes, you ran the shower and stepped under the warm water, letting it wash over you.

Your mind was buzzing with everything and nothing, too busy to achieve more than minimal supervision as you washed yourself. As you stepped out of the shower, you noticed a set of clean clothes waiting for you. You hadn't even heard Cam come in. You did feel better for being clean though. Days of grime, sweat and dirt had been left behind, washed away with the water.

* * *

You grabbed your dirty clothes and the book as you headed out to meet him again, seeing him waiting for you, coffee in hand. He smiled as you approached.

"Ditch them. I doubt you'd want to wear those again," he said motioning to the clothes.

"No, no, probably not. Sorry about that. I've had a lot on my mind lately," you said. The clothes drop from your hand, forgotten already.

"There's your coffee. Now, what's brought you to my door at 5 in the fucking morning?" Cam said, trying not to show his irritation.

"Oh, is it that early? Sorry. I've been a bit mindless of late. I just-"

"Hey, is that book what I think it is? You've still got it?" Cam had seen it and pried it away from you before you had a chance to stop him.

"Yeah, I've never been able to throw it away. Just answer me one thing, alright? Did you ever love me when we were together? I've never been able to work it out and it's driving me crazy because I loved you so much and I have no idea why I should care so much now, it's just that-"

He stopped you by cupping your cheek and meeting your eyes with a fierce gaze. "You need to let this go, man. But if it'll help, yes, I did love you. I might not have shown it as well as I should've, but I did love you." His voice showed no signs he was lying.

"I'm beginning to think I'll never find anyone like you, no matter how long I live. Maybe I'm just looking in the wrong places," you said with a sigh, not saying what you really wanted to say. You drink your coffee, letting the burning liquid scald your throat.

"I still can't believe you've still got this book, you know. Why'd you keep it?" Cam said, flicking through it.

"Honestly? It reminded me of you. And whenever I tried to get rid of it, it always came back to me. I just want it gone now. It's brought me nothing but pain," you said quietly, sipping your coffee.

"You still have the rose I gave you? You pressed it?" Cam picked it up and looked at it.

"Didn't know what else to do with it to keep it forever. That's what you said that night. Forever," you said. You were ashamed that he finally knew you'd been hanging onto this for so long. You felt like an idiot.

"Come on, I know just what to do with this book," Cam said.

He grabbed your hand and the book and walked over to the fireplace. You had some idea of what he had in mind, but it wasn't until it was ablaze and being thrown inside the heater that it sunk in. You went to rescue it in a panic, but he held you back, not letting you get free. You were in no mood to fight him properly.

"Let it go, love. Let it go with the fire. Let it finally die so you can move on. You don't need to be burdened by this any longer, alright? All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. You shouldn't be miserable. I refuse to let you leave this house a miserable wreck, so let it all go and be happy, alright?" Cam whispered to you.

He was showing his caring side again, the one you loved over anything else. His words hit home, made you double over in pain. Maybe it was because he'd said it, had told you to let go. Maybe all you were waiting for was his permission. The book was destroyed now, as was the rose. Gone, in an instant. The last tie to him was gone. There was nothing holding you back now.

"Oh, God," you croaked hoarsely as Cam sat you down on the couch, fighting back tears.

"Feeling better?" Cam said.

"Gone. Just like that. I never had the strength to do that," you said.

"That's why I did it for you. Now, go back to your lover and make things right again," Cam said with a smile.

You clutched onto him, grateful for his friendship. "Thank you."

"Remember to take care of yourself this time. I don't want to see you turning up here at 5am looking like a train wreck again, you hear?" Cam said.

"What about if it was 6am?" you said, unable to help the jibe.

"Andy," he said in that tone that meant he both loved your remark and hated you for saying it.

"Sorry, I'll go now. Sorry for intruding. Thanks again. I had no idea it was such a burden. I feel so free," you said.

"Put it to good use. I'll see you later," Cam said, getting up.

He led you to the door and ushered you out, offering profuse goodbyes as you headed off into the early morning. You didn't see him close the door and walk back to the kitchen and pull out the pressed rose from the top drawer. He sniffed it, that same familiar scent bringing back his own memories of that night.

"Forever, Andy. Forever."

With one last look at it, he threw it in the bin, not wanting to dwell on it further.

* * *

You arrived back at home filled with a renewed sense of life. Feeling much better, you cleaned the house again, properly this time, before having another shower. You wanted to look good for when you went to see Chris. Making sure you were presentable, you headed out again, stopping to pick up some flowers and a bottle of Chris' favourite wine. It was the least he deserved for everything you'd put him through.

You smiled as he opened the door, glad to see him again. "Hey."

"Have you forgotten him yet?" You couldn't tell if Chris was angry or not.

"Yeah. He's gone for good. I brought you these," you said, presenting the wine and flowers.

For some reason, he accepted your assurances without question. He smiled at you warmly, and you knew things would be alright again. "You're such a girl, Hansen. Come on in, I'll make us something to go with the wine. You hungry?" He swept you inside, closing the door behind you.

"Yeah, hungry for you, Chris. I missed you," you said.

He turned to face you. "I missed you too. I hope you're alright. I hated that you were still hanging onto him," he said.

"It's okay. He made me let go. I'm all yours," you said.

"Bout bloody time. Come here, I wanna kiss you again," he said.

Still clutching the wine and the flowers, he pulled you into a kiss, and you realised he wasn't as bad as you kept telling yourself. He ran a hand through your hair and you melted at his touch. Pulling apart, you met his eyes and knew he'd forgiven you.

"God, I've missed you," you said.

"You already said that. Come on, I'll get you a drink."

He took the wine from you and headed to the kitchen. You perched on his bed, watching him work. He came and sat beside you as he handed you a drink. You glanced down as he took your hand in his. You squeezed his hand back, hoping your break ups wouldn't be so numerous from now on.


End file.
